The Faded Sutra
You walk the grey stone causeway that stretches out from the jagged cliffs of the North Sea, the wind biting at your face with a cold that feels less like weather and more like a judgment, as you carry the heavy, iron-bound chest that holds the last of your husband’s bones, a burden that has grown heavier with every mile you have put between the burning village and this strange, fog-choked...
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